The Damn Flu
by madwriter223
Summary: Bobby is not feeling well this particular morning. Fluff, some Illness Hurts


**The Damn Flu**

"Oh, Bobby-kins, wakey wakey." A voice sing-songed, and the hunter grunted as he woke up.

Bobby cracked his eyes open slowly, blinking blearily at his desk top. He licked his dry lips and swallowed, trying to ignore the foul taste in his mouth. It really wasn't helping his nausea.

He belched slightly and forced himself to sit up straight. When his forehead lifted off the desk, his aching head sent a sharp stab of pain right into his eyes, and he groaned, pushing down the urge to vomit. He felt cold and shivery all over, and his shirt stuck uncomfortably to the sweat on his back.

On hindsight, doing research all night was not a good idea when one had the flu.

He blinked slowly at the papers littering his desk. The one he'd ended up passing out on was stuck to the side of his head and he peeled it off with a grimace. He felt disgusting.

"Are you awake yet?" That same voice asked again, closer to his ear this time.

Bobby swallowed thickly again and coughed. He rubbed his aching eyes for a second and forced himself to focus on whoever it was talking to him.

"Hi, Crowley." He croaked, his voice as scratchy as his throat.

The demon raised a cheeky eyebrow at him. "Long night?"

"You could say that." Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and tried to work out the kink in it from sleeping at his desk. Did he even find what he'd been looking for? He hoped he did, he didn't have it in him to research again.

Crowley waved something in front of his face, and the human forced himself to focus on it. It was a red mug. That's about all he could see at the moment. "What is it?" he asked, swaying slightly in his seat.

Crowley lifted one of Bobby's hands and pressed the mug into it. "Just a little hair of the dog that bit you. I believe the cruel mutt was black with two sugars, no cream."

Bobby took a slow sip and closed his eyes. That hit the spot. Tea probably would've been better, but the _warmth_. He felt a teeny bit better already.

"I'm not hungover, yah idjit." he said slowly, setting the mug carefully on the desk. Wouldn't do if he dropped it. "I'm sick."

"That's why it's important to always use protection." Crowley pointed out reasonably.

Bobby gave him a weak glare. A short moment later he sighed and closed his eyes, propping his chin up on one hand. "I'm too wrung out to snark today." he mumbled. He wondered if he'd have enough strength to crawl up the stairs and into his bed. Should he even risk passing out on the way up? His couch was much closer. But much less comfortable.

"Well, what's wrong with you?" Crowley demanded, crossing his arms and plopping down onto the edge of the desk.

"Flu." Bobby answered and reached for his mug again, peering into it. Maybe if he downed it all in one go, he'd be able to get to his couch.

"Oh! Why didn't you just say so?" And Crowley poked the tips of two fingers against Bobby's temple.

He was instantly better. His headache was gone, his head no longer felt muzzy, the bleariness and aches were gone. Just like that. He stood up slowly and carefully walked around his desk. He felt better and stronger than before he'd caught the damn flu.

"What did you do?" he asked curiously, stretching his arms above his head. "I didn't know demons could heal."

Crowley shrugged and swung his legs around so that he was facing the hunter. "Technically, I didn't _heal_ you."

"Then how?"

"Let's just say I exorcised your germs." The demon smirked smugly.

Bobby frowned. "Don't tell me the flu is demonic." He demanded with a disbelieving snort.

"What else could it be?" Crowley rolled his eyes with an exasperated expression. "Beelzebub still won't shut up about it, he's so proud. His biggest accomplishment, and it's not even deadly. Moron."

"Feels deadly enough." Bobby stretched his back and sighed. "Thank you." he said earnestly and the demon wrinkled his nose.

"You know me, always eager to help." He said, looking away from the hunter briefly. He never did deal with gratitude well.

Bobby huffed and rubbed a hand through his hair. Then he winced. "I'm gonna go take a long shower. I'm all sweaty and nasty." He downed the rest of his coffee and headed to the upstairs bathroom.

"I do like that about you." Crowley waggled his eyebrows and Bobby blew a raspberry at him.

**End**

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AN: This was written for the 'Which one of your OTP' challenge, for the prompt 'coffee'. But it turned out to have little in common with the actual prompt, so I'm posting it separately.


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